


Beloved

by Ishti



Series: New Quest [3]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 04:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13403253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti





	Beloved

They always wave at her as she walks by, grinning and cooing, their eyes bright to drink her in. The fawning is acceptable to her. It's typical. She expects it.

But she has also learned not to expect it everywhere.

On this endless road, this jaunt through the wide, colorful market street of Veldt, she is adored. Sometimes, the townsfolk gather before the luxurious storefronts and houses to watch her sashay, clamoring and cheering as if attending a holiday parade. The faces are not necessarily recognizable to her, but she sees many of the same folk again and again on her endless stroll forward. She doesn't pay them much attention, nor does she learn their names; they are of little consequence to her.

It is a comfort, however, to ease the sting of her memories of the outside world, where she was not so revered. Whether the northerners scorned her outfit, or her whip, or her demon summoning magic, or the cultural practices typical of Veldt, they reminded her that her flawlessness is perhaps not so objective.

This doesn't trouble her. Others might not appreciate her, but she loves herself without reserve.

But it troubles her very much, in fact, when her advances are spurned, or when she learns she may have... _upset_ _..._ one whom she might consider a friend. These people on the sides of the market road--they are not real, and she knows this; they have no personalities, no true thoughts. Beyond the road, where the world lies ahead, the people have minds of their own.

She thinks of her husbands, as she never has before. She wonders whether they are happy. She wonders this, all because some northerners taught her she can't understand a person or calculate their thoughts on sight. She recalls the sword-singer, irresolute; the vampire, romantic... the pirate, acerbic.

She sees, at last, the end of the cobbled street, and knows what will come next. The street terminates unceremoniously under a short mound of sand. The land here swells into untamed desert, uninhabited, not a plant or animal in sight, the dunes rising like highlands through which she can't see. Beyond that is the rest of the world.

Glancing around, she smiles this way and that at the shopkeepers and bachelors waving farewell.

_Will you remember they are not playthings, and leave your dollhouse at home?_

She tosses her hair back before stepping off the road. "We shall see."


End file.
